“Just until you get better, Buddy,” the coach put in.
“I feel fine.”
“We’ll run some tests in a couple of days. Then, we’ll know.”
The stewardess returned with Emmy’s food. She moved to another seat, put down the tray table, and chowed down.
The medic came over and filled her spot next to the wide receiver. “Let me ask you a couple of questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Who scored the first touchdown today?”
“Uh…let me see. I think we did. No. They did.”
“What day of the week is it?”
“Sunday.”
“Good. Who did you play last week?”
“Last week? Let me see. Hmm, last week? I don’t remember.”
“Bingo. You’re not fine, Buddy.”
The wide receiver pulled an unhappy face. The stewardess brought a vanilla milkshake for Buddy.
“No caffeine, either,” the coach said, before moving on to check on Marquel Johnson, his other injured player.
“How long can you stay?” Buddy whispered to Emmy.
“I have a concert in a week.”
“Does Stash know you’re here?”
“I’m my own person. I can do what I want.”
“When do you have to leave?”
“Friday. In the meantime, it’s you and me.”
He lay back, sucking down the milkshake and gazing at her. She polished off the rest of her meal and held his hand while the aircraft soared into the sky. Buddy fell asleep for the remainder of the short flight. Emmy sang a capella softly at the request of the team. A bus met the plane and brought everyone back to the stadium. Emmy drove Buddy home in his car. He was tired from the trip, so she gave him a cup of herbal tea and put him to bed.
After he was out, she dragged her suitcases in, one at a time. Buddy would insist on carrying these if he knew about them. But no heavy lifting. She plopped down on the sofa and dialed Stash.
“Where exactly are you?”
“Monroe, Connecticut.”
There was silence.
“Buddy got injured. I’m helping him. I told you.”
“I thought you made it up. You’d better be here on Friday. Concert is Saturday. Don’t fuck this up, Emerald. It’s Chicago, a huge market.”
“I won’t. I won’t. I’ve never missed a concert yet.”
“Don’t let this be the first time. Tell that wimp to shell out the bucks to hire a nurse. Come home.” The phone went dead.
I am home, Stash. Buddy slept soundly as she undressed and slipped into bed beside him. She stroked his head gently for a moment, running her fingers through his hair.
“Poor baby.” She brushed her lips over his bare shoulder then snuggled down under the covers. He rolled over, murmured something, and slung his arm over her waist. She cuddled into him and closed her eyes. His scent was familiar, as was the feel of his bare skin. The heat from his body calmed her. His nearness meant she was safe. Emmy stretched her legs and sighed. Sleep came quickly.
* * * *
Sunshine woke Emmy early. She rolled over, spied the six on the digital clock, and groaned. Buddy was still asleep. She eased out of bed so as not to disturb him. The research says he needs a ton of rest. Sleep, baby. Rummaging through his closet, she found a blue, velour robe and fastened the sash around her waist. Blitz rose from his bed, stretched, yawned, and then followed.
She padded into the kitchen and made a small pot of coffee, since Buddy couldn’t have any. Next, she fed the dog and gave him fresh water. She frowned as she thought of all the restrictions on Buddy. Remembering how active he was in college, always moving, running, lifting weights, playing pick-up soccer games, Buddy would be restless, like a caged tiger in the zoo. He’ll be grumpy. She opened the back door for the pug, who ran out, did his business, and then returned.
Taking her coffee into the den, she found his old guitar standing up against the wall. She strummed and tuned it then played an old folk song they loved. She moved to the living room sofa. The view from the picture window of the changing fall leaves and the birds at the feeder inspired her. She pulled paper and pen out of her purse and wrote the beginning of a new song. Blitz trotted into the bedroom, jumped up on the bed, and curled up to nap at the foot.
Immersed in writing and singing, Emmy lost track of time. The scratching of the key in the lock drew barking from Blitz, who came hightailing it out to investigate.
Gert opened the door and jumped a mile at finding Emmy. “Oh my God. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Whatcha doin’ here, honey?”
Emmy explained about Buddy’s injury.
“This boy’s gonna need some chicken soup. You comin’?” Gert pulled car keys out of her bag.
“Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Didn’t think you were goin’ like that.” Gert chuckled.
Back from the store, the women lugged in several bags of groceries.
Gert tied an apron around her waist. “Ever make chicken soup?”
“Once. With my mom. But I was very little. Like maybe five?”
“Only once?”
“Yeah. My mom died when I was seven. Dad remarried, but we never got along.”
“That’s too bad. Come on, I’ll teach you.”
“Let me check on Buddy.” Emmy tiptoed into his room. He had changed position, but was still sound asleep. Blitz snored peacefully at his feet. The clocked read ten thirty. She pulled the covers up over his shoulders, kissed his head, and returned to the kitchen.
Emmy washed her hands. “Okay, Gert. Bring it on.”
The two women worked side by side. Emmy focused carefully on Gert, soaking up all the older woman’s directions.
When Buddy finally stumbled out of bed and made it to the kitchen, his arrival took both women by surprise. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Something smells great.”
Emmy put one hand on her hip and pointed to the giant pot, filled with simmering liquid. “This is homemade chicken soup…from scratch. This, homemade lasagna, and this, a pan of brownies. In the fridge is a big bowl of homemade coleslaw.”
“My favorites. Gert, you outdid yourself.”
Emmy frowned.
“Not just me. This young lady worked her butt off.”
“You did?” He faced the singer. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can’t. Couldn’t. But now, I can.”
“She can make the basics. That’s all you need,” Gert said, untying her apron, folding it, and returning it to the drawer. “Time for laundry.” She headed toward the bathroom.
Buddy snaked an arm around Emmy’s shoulders. “This is amazing. Did you taste Gert’s coleslaw? It’s outta this world.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. A little tired.”
“Tired? After all that sleep?”
“What time is it?”
“Noon.”
“Really? Damn! I suppose it’s too late for eggs?”
“Got ’em right here. That’s something I already know how to cook.”
“How about bacon?”
“Can’t have eggs without bacon.” Emmy pulled a package from the fridge.
“Coffee?”
“I’m afraid not. Herbal tea? Hot chocolate?”
“Milkshake?”
“That works.” Emmy set about making the shake while bacon cooked in the pan.
Buddy sat at the table and watched her. When she brought the beverage to him, he grabbed her, drawing her into his embrace. He opened his legs and closed them around her, keeping her up against him. “When you cook, it makes me want to tear your clothes off.”
“Buddy! We’re not alone. Besides, you can’t do that.”
“Who’s gonna know?”
“Me.” She pushed away from him and returned to the stove.
“You’re gonna turn me down?”
“It’s for your own good. Not like I want to, but, hey, we have to keep you alive and in good
shape.”
“How about a little kiss?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“You’re not supposed to want sex, either.” She placed the bacon on a paper towel to drain and poured the fat into an empty can.
“Nobody told my dick that.”
“Buddy! Gert’s here.”
“She knows the facts of life. Just one, little kiss?”
“Like you could ever stop at just one, little kiss?” Emmy laughed as she cracked eggs in the pan to cook in the remaining grease.
She delivered the food to the table then refilled her mug with coffee. Buddy tucked into it like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“You’re hungry?”
“Damn right. If I can’t feed one appetite, I have to feed the other.”
She laughed.
He finished the last of the vanilla milkshake and put his plate in the sink. “What can I do today?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin after tossing a small tidbit of bacon to the pug.
“Nothing.”
He yawned. “Might go back to bed.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Good idea.”
“I’ve got a little headache.”
“Not surprising after what that gorilla did to you.”
“Mack truck is more like it. What about you?” He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“I’m working on a new song.”
“Yeah? Can I hear it?”
“When it’s done. I might read to you too. Then, you don’t have to worry about eyestrain.”
“Great. Will you do it naked, lying next to me?”
“Buddy!” Emmy blushed as she saw Gert pass by and chuckle.
“Just kidding. I gotta get better fast. Celibacy is gonna kill me.”
“Dr. Martin said he’d fax over some questions. So I can test you, see how you’re doing.”
“Sounds good.” He yawned again and pushed to his feet. “See ya later. Remember. I want to hear that song.” He stooped to kiss her before shuffling away.
Emmy knitted her eyebrows as she watched him. His step was slow as he headed for the bed, humming a tune, with Blitz right behind. After a few minutes, she followed. She peeked in to see him already asleep, so she closed the door most of the way and headed back to the guitar in the living room. There were still birds at the feeder. She sat down and played what she’d already written to get into the mood.
Two hours later, as Gert was preparing to leave, she stopped by the sofa. “That’s a pretty song you’re singing.”
“I just wrote it.”
“You did? That’s fantastic! Whatcha gonna call it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know. How about “Falling in Love When the Leaves Fall’?”
Emmy tried to hide a smile behind her hand. “I’ll take that into consideration, Gert.”
The older woman patted her on the shoulder. “You do that.”
“Thanks for the cooking lessons. It was fun. You’re a great cook.”
“You will be, too, one day.”
The house appeared quiet and empty after the housekeeper closed the door behind her. Emmy sighed. Even though it had been so many years, she missed her mom. A soft snore from the bedroom called to her. She padded into Buddy’s room and watched him sleep. Her gaze trained on the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s breathing nicely. Emotion welled up inside as she watched the tough athlete lie still. He appeared like an overgrown child, innocent and vulnerable. The dog at his feet let out a snort, changed position, and then lay still.
She returned to her song, hoping it would be done by the time Buddy awoke. The perfect name landed in her head. “Love on the Wing,” she said aloud, to no one, and smiled.
* * * *
The soft chime of the hall clock woke Buddy at midnight. His pillow was soaked with sweat. Heat permeated his body. He threw off the blankets, but stopped as a noise from Emmy reminded him he wasn’t alone. He sat completely still while she rolled over.
Slowly, he moved each leg over the side of the bed then pushed to his feet. He left the covers where they lay, snatched his robe off the side chair, and padded into the den bathroom. His body was drenched, so he stepped into the stall shower. He scrubbed his head and began to feel a bit dizzy. He put his hands out, bracing them against the walls, and lowered his head. After a few deep breaths, he shut off the water and stood still.
Two more calming breaths, and then he raised his head slowly. Pulling a towel off the rack, he fastened it around his waist and sank down on the closed toilet. The dizziness turned into throbbing pain. After removing the towel and slipping his robe over his shoulders, Buddy made his way to the living room to stretch out on the sofa. He checked out the moon through the picture window then closed his eyes.
Wrapping his robe tighter around his middle, he did some deep breathing to relax his muscles. The headache went away, but he couldn’t shut off his mind. What’s happening to me? I can’t remember shit. My balance sucks. Will I be able to play again? Not like this.
A tightness filled his chest as tears stung the backs of his eyes. Football is all I know. It’s who I am. Fuck it. He covered his eyes with his hand as a few tears escaped down his rough cheek. How long will it take to recover? What if I can’t play again?
A sob slipped through his lips. He rolled onto his side and looked at the moonlight caressing the tree limbs, slowly becoming bare. His head began to throb again. He wiped his face with his hand and sniffed. Never injured, never sick, he didn’t know how to cope with the concussion. He didn’t understand what was happening. For the first time since he was a teenager, he wasn’t in control of his body. And it scares the hell out of me.
He flipped over on his stomach, rested his head on his arms, and buried his face in the pillow. The sound of his cries was muffled. The headache is getting worse. I’ve got to stop. A hand on his back startled him. He rolled onto his side again and peeked out to see a naked Emmy climbing onto the couch next to him.
She opened his robe and slid up against him, pulling the fabric around her before she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her arms around his chest. “It’s going to be all right, babe.”
“What if it isn’t?” He smoothed his palm down her back.
“It will. Other guys come back from concussions. You will too.” She raised her head. Her gaze locked with his.
“You think so?”
“I do.” She nodded once. “You’re in good shape, and from what I’ve read, if you do what you’re supposed to, you should recover completely.”
He searched her eyes. “You’re not bullshitting me?”
“I wouldn’t do that. Besides, you’d figure it out anyway.”
A half smile crossed his lips. “You got that right.” He hugged her against him and held her there. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.
“Me, too.” She massaged the back of his neck. “Headache?”
“How’d you know?”
“You’re squinting.”
“Can I take ibuprofen?”
“Doc said to wait a couple of days. Why don’t you come back to bed?”
“I got a little dizzy.”
“I’ll help you.” She pushed to her feet and offered her hand.
They returned to the bedroom. Buddy pulled the bed clothes up over Emmy. She snuggled against him. He ran his hand over her soft skin, stopping to squeeze her breast before settling his fingers around her waist.
“Tryin’ to be good here.”
“I’m tired anyway.”
“Yeah, right. Like I believe you.”
“It’s not all about sex with you, Buddy. Don’t you know that?”
“I do, baby. I do.” He brushed her lips with his.
They curled up together, and he closed his eyes. The headache had disappeared. Peace flowed through his veins as he rested his chin on her head. Her presence calmed him and drowsiness returned.
In the morning, Buddy rolled over and cracked his eye open to see six on the clock. Too ea
rly. He had been excused from practice for a week to rest. Emmy stirred next to him. “No practice,” he murmured.
Emmy made a noise, pulled up the blankets, and inched closer to him.
Buddy sat up slowly, waiting for the pain to start in the back of his head. But it didn’t. He took a deep breath. Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Time to get up.”
“No, Buddy, come on. Let me sleep,” she whined, tugging on the blanket.
“Stay. I’m gonna get some food.”
Buddy padded barefoot into the kitchen accompanied by Blitz, who was ready for his breakfast too. Being a bachelor, he had had to learn to cook some basics. He whipped up some fried eggs and toast then fed the dog. He made coffee for Emmy and herbal tea for himself. Then, he balanced everything on a large tray and headed for the bedroom.
“Time to get up. Breakfast in bed!”
Emmy opened an eye, smiled, and then sat up. When the covers slipped down to her waist, Buddy’s gaze swooped over her nakedness. Her delicate body was finely formed. He’d never get tired of looking at it.
She reached out. “Give it to me before you dump everything. Are you feeling okay?”
“Just lookin’ at you, honey. That’s the best view ever.”
“Silly boy!” She grasped the handles on the tray and set it down.
He went to the other side and sank down gently. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Starved. This is beautiful. Nobody makes me breakfast in bed.”
“Not at the hotels?”
“Well, yeah. But not a person. A person who knows me.”
And loves you. “After what you’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do.”
“Payback?” A look of hurt flashed in her eyes as she picked up her mug.
“No, baby. Just my way of saying ‘thank you’.”
The tension eased, and her eyes glowed again. “How are you feeling?” She took a sip of the brew and picked up her fork.
“Better. No headache. Can we go outside today?”
“How about a car ride? Any woods around here? We could see the changing leaves.”
“Yeah. Nutmeg State Park is about five miles away.”
“Perfect. They didn’t say you couldn’t ride in a car, just can’t drive. We’ll make it short.”
Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 11
